30 Day Flash Fiction Challenge - Langage Des Fleurs (The Language of Flowers)

I have, over the years developed almost a reputation for being an awfully erratic writer, a truth that runs deeper with each passing day. So, in an attempt to encourage some consistency to my writing habits, I've developed a little challenge for myself. This challenge will understandably not get completed over consecutive days due to my aforementioned erratic behaviour, and most likely be carried out over completely random days. Maybe I'll update tomorrow, maybe I'll never update again. One thing, however, that will remain consistent is the format. For each of the days (I don't yet know how many) I will write a 250 word (or so) flash fiction, entitled with the name of a flower and relevant to the flower's meaning. Wish me luck, I will surely need it. The main reason for these "drabbles" is not to improve as a writer but simply get writing again, but do provide constructive criticism if you feel like it :P And why French? Because it’s the language of love my darlings. xoxo

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2. Bellflower

 

Bellflower (Thinking of You)

Caitlin

The rhythmic thud of the rain, each droplet forcefully propelling itself into the window pane with reckless abandon, was curiously reminiscent of my recent behaviour.

I’d pushed you to take me places you’d never have ventured to of your own volition, pushed you to make my life yours, never once questioning the depth of your cautious glances or reproving grimace.

I found that my hair had become entangled around my fingers as I’d been considering all that had passed between us, the slew of emotions it evoked as intertwined as the wispy strands of hair I began to delicately unpick.

Gizmo’s mournful whine caused me to pull my gaze up from my slender fingers and towards his dark, worldly eyes.

“Any answers, Giz?”

He padded slowly from the room, wagging his tail softly as he went.

The rain continued to fall.

 I hope you’re thinking of me, darling. I can’t stop thinking of you.

 

Callum

They say after a while, people begin to look like their pets, when what they really mean is they begin to take on certain mannerisms exhibited by them.

The same could be said of my sister and you.

There are times when she’ll twirl her hair idly around her fingers, her mind lost to her daydreams. She’ll roll her eyes dramatically when I rebuke her frivolous ways. And sometimes, when night has fallen and the house is shrouded in silence, she’ll whisper her sorrows softly to the cat, as expectant as you when confiding in our dog.

 Your dog.

You’re gone, but your hold over my life is a strong as it ever was.

 I hope you’re thinking of me, darling . I wish I could stop thinking of you.

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